


And the pain of my mother

by deadvinesandfanfics



Category: Original Work
Genre: Australia, Australia Day, Boredom, F/F, F/M, Gen, Iga, Racism, Work, racism babeyyyy, working
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29969139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadvinesandfanfics/pseuds/deadvinesandfanfics
Summary: This was not how I had wanted to spend my Australia day.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character





	And the pain of my mother

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! I finished this other assignment for English, and I figured that once I finished it, it would be a shame to just scrap it. I figured I'd put it on here if anyone was interested :)

He told me one last story. He used his aged, ruined voice like an old man’s hands to pick the lock on his past, muttering to himself like he wasn’t currently talking to an underpaid cashier who had so many other places they wanted to be.

This was not how I wanted to spend my Australia Day.

An eight-hour shift at the tiny IGA on the corner of my street, smiling and nodding at an old man who seemed to have too many stories to go untold. Granted, I needed the job and wanted the money, but shit. I had friends, and other things to be doing, y’know?

But after only a few more minutes, the man’s gnarled hands-fingers like rooted tree trunks, slowly wrapped around his bags and he finally left. I stood there at the empty till for a minute in that quiet, musty room that smelled of stale time and space. It felt odd, to have such a rush of words and stories, dancing through the air in misunderstood gibberish and misremembered endings, and to have it so swiftly retreat. The room was empty, and I was alone.

The air had a tired, smoky taste to it; the lights by the freezer section buzzed, and the low _whirrrr_ of the small desk fan felt like someone was gently drilling a hole into my head. I felt miserable.

_There were five hours to go._

It was quiet, in the dark, airless IGA. It was peaceful.  
Then a small jingle sounded as the sliding doors, old and unoiled, screeched as they tried to pry themselves open. They parted, and a pair of overweight, shirtless men walked in, laughing about the bloody greatest country, and last night’s footy game that I didn’t watch. They had the red, white and blue face paint, one of them with an Australian flag printed on a bucket hat. The other was smoking. They had a six pack of Carlton Draught that they probably bought from the Bottle-O next door.

I didn’t bother to watch them and chose to wait at the till instead, my mind floating to places I could be instead; from the car park to a beautiful cottage, isolated in the hills. It felt like a last glimpse of a land being lost forever, and a sweet sort of homesickness washed over me, corroding my soul.

I was snapped out of my escape as two bags of chips and ‘Man Size’ ready-made meals are slammed onto the counter. The men were still laughing, caught up in some great web of a conversation, occasionally flicking back to the sticky topic of sports. They acted like I wasn’t there as I silently scanned the items, smiled, thanked them. They left.

It felt like I had become invisible in that tiny IGA, to some extent like a dead man.

_Four hours to go._

I remember spilling mop water in my shoes that day.

There were three hours to go. The drone of the speakers became mind-numbing, and all I could make out were a few mumbled sentences about how free Australia is, how diverse we are, how great of a country this is. My ability to process sentences slipped through my fingers like sand. The chill from the aisle I was cleaning began to creep into my hollow bones, weighing down every move I made.

The bucket tipped as I try to move it a few inches-just a few-and the entire thing fell over in slow motion. The steaming liquid spilled out across the freezer section and I thought I might scream.

The radio started playing Waltzing Matilda for the sixth time, and I remember now-quite vividly-that I had genuinely considered stabbing someone.

Looking back on it, that day seemed just like other days, as the tiny legged trepidations that would climb in my hair and sleep under my skin made everything a bigger deal than it needed to be. But that day would have no others after, no more worlds like that would follow. Because I had a plan; to leave that shitty little IGA where nothing ever happened. No more worlds like this, no more days like that.

_Three hours to go._

Two hours had passed. Some kids, about 14 and 15, walked in. I thought they had come from the beach; they only had towels and board shorts and sandy thongs. They made their way around the store, bags of candy and chips and diabetes wrapped in their arms. I followed them slowly; warned and scolded too many times about the kids that tried to pocket things unnoticed.

As I was walking, the bell above the door chimed, and I stuck my head out to see a woman and a girl walk in, swathed in fabric despite it pushing 35 degrees. The girl had beautiful eyes, a deep pool of blue-green that was like the swell of an ocean after a storm. Calm but chaotic.

They walked, slowly collecting boxes and fruits and things in a small basket they had taken from the front. The store was almost silent-other than the two brats snickering and me struggling to swallow my heart in my throat.

All too quickly the calm atmosphere of my tiny, shitty IGA was shattered, as the two boys-absolute bastard children-made eye contact with the women as they passed them in the aisle.

They cackled, the two of them, looking at each other and then the women, who had rushed passed them the moment the repulsive sounds had left their mouths. One of them lifted up a towel he had and wrapped it around his head, grinning, like he had just told a funny joke. As I stepped back and made my way back to the till I could hear the giggled, ‘Fucken’ _muzzies,_ dude.’

I felt gross, listening to the words.

The women made their way up to the register, small smiles and helpful hands bagging the items as they were scanned. Too quickly they were about to leave; all of their bags gathered their path out of the store set. My wet heart snagged on every thorn that was each step she took. I would never see the girl again, her eyes, filled with tide pools and stars.

‘Wait!’ I called. She turned. My heart stuttered. ‘Ignore them, please. They’re stupid. Being born here doesn’t give them the right to be assholes.’

She regarded me, for a moment, that beautiful ocean-eyed girl. A tentative moment of silence stretched between us, and my mind hummed with the gentle glow of deep blue jellyfish and the soft night sand as she eyed me. I felt like I were home, for once, clinging to this girl-this _stranger-_ that made me feel whole for the first time in eons.

Her expression shifted and her lips tightened a bit. Her mother was silent. I wondered if she could speak English.

‘I was born here. So was my mother. Have a good day.’

The pair turned and walked out of the shop, the bell chiming behind them. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach as her words washed over me, like nails or syphilis or every other unpleasant thing I could think of.

Looking back on it, I think that was my point of decline. I felt like I was on the beach, sinking into the greedy sand, standing alone at the edge of our universe, approaching the outer limits of our solar system. I felt like I was nowhere, and everywhere but here.

I still had an hour.

The boys came up to the counter next, still giggling about terrorist jokes that felt like a fork in the eye. I smiled and served them.

I wanted to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so actually thinking about it i never gave the main character a gender, so if that was just a subconscious way to trick my teacher into reading gay panic I'll never know, but read it however u want I guess lol


End file.
